My pals thought I'd had a sunstroke when I retired as a newspaper sports columnist, giving up assignments that included the Super Bowl, the World Series, the Kentucky Derby, the Winter and Summer Olympics, the NCAA Final Four, the Masters, Wimbledon and the British Open.

Worse yet, our St. Petersburg neighbors figured that my wife and I were clanging into our 60s with fits of delirium when they learned we were fleeing a sunny AARP promised land and relocating to Virginia's high country, where roads get icy, snow falls and wardrobes must go beyond Bermuda shorts, tees and flip-flops.

But now, finding March warmth in Old Dominion wool and fleece, Marcy and I are moving into a glorious new house in the Blue Ridge foothills, an investment as emotional as it is financial in a place called Wintergreen, where even Floridians can ski.

There is a divine simplicity. Fewer complexities, less traffic, diminished anxiety.

Nature abounds.

We have no sorrow that our restful years will not be spent overlooking Tampa Bay, a palm-studded golf course or a snippet of sand along Florida's 1,200 miles of beaches that skirt the Gulf, wrap the Keys and embrace the Atlantic.

In our 10th month as Virginians, we're still getting questions about our move via post, e-mail, fax and phone.

"Tell me again why you did it?" friends from down there keep asking. "What in the world turned you on to Virginia, where there is real winter?"

My wife, a banker-turned-real estate agent, and I lived 120 years in Florida between us.

We never, never liked the blistering, humid, seemingly endless summers.

Retirement would bring more freedom, so we became hot for a four-season climate and topography with more beauty bumps, a change from Florida flat that enthralled.

But where to go? How far?

Georgia's upstate seemed a real option, so too the Carolinas, perhaps Tennessee.

I rode the Internet hard, checking out even Utah, New Mexico, Oregon, Arizona, Colorado and Nevada.

I was pretty well-grounded from a geographical perspective, my journalism jobs having constantly taken me on the road, touching 46 states and 18 foreign countries.

Atlanta, since my teens, had seemed a place where I'd like to live.

But by the 21st century, the warp speed growth, nauseating traffic and megalopolis aches of the old town of Margaret Mitchell and Martin Luther King Jr. made it seem risky for young retirees, even in a location 30 to 45 miles from midtown. Far-flung suburbs of the 1970s had become clogged mayhem of the 2000s.

We researched on . . .

Hilton Head, Kiawah, Myrtle Beach and other South Carolina coastal enclaves have much to offer.

But we worried that summer heat/humidity again would stalk us there, plus that June, July and August would bring two-lane roads crammed with mass convoys of beach-seeking hordes and their screeching offspring armed with blow-up toys.

OK, where to now?

Scores of our better-off Florida friends have for generations enjoyed the hills of western North Carolina.

But, once summer subsides, there is heavy desertion, a fleeing for warmer winters.

We never felt comfort in the two-home mentality; always the scheme was to pour all we could into one. We didn't wish to be left as winter hermits in Highlands or Cashiers.

Also, the snaky mountain roads there are a minus. Getting anywhere is a semi-queasy chore.

Eventually, we found a gorgeous in-between place. We bought a lot at the Cliffs of Glassy, midway between Greenville, S.C., and Asheville, N.C. It was hilly but easily accessible.

At that point, Virginia had not been deemed a viable option.

After a couple of years, as we worked in Florida toward early retirement, extreme construction costs at Glassy began to spook us.

Only a couple of builders operated there. Fees had become steeper than the mountain itself. Our lot was sold; the country club membership redeemed.

We then checked out a place near Knoxville. It wasn't right. Too young in development.

We knew what we wanted, knew what we could afford. Our eyes looked elsewhere in the Carolinas, then crossed the line into Virginia.

A friend in Florida once shared ownership of a Wintergreen mountain condo.

She is a travel agent, a picky person with high standards. She kept suggesting we should drive a little farther north to evaluate a unique, terrific place a half-hour from a wonderful college town, Charlottesville.

Soon, it was not at all surprising that best-selling author John Grisham, who can afford to locate on any continent, chose to be our neighbor near U.S. 29.

Or that Howie Long, pro football Hall of Famer and Fox-TV commentator, found it perfect to raise a family a few minutes from C'ville in a place called Ivy.

It was a gradual but solid build as Marcy and I investigated Wintergreen.

It was more resort than country club. Rural surroundings in Nelson County are a rare blend of people, services, challenge and opportunity.

Mountaintop life mesmerizes many, but we were taken by Stoney Creek, a rolling valley down state Route 664, then a left on 151, to where the mail comes to a tiny post office called Nellysford.

Compared with Florida, where property in neighborhoods of choice is scarce, land prices seemed so reasonable.

We were coming from a renowned retirement place where there is no state income tax or car tax.

But even an old sportswriter who has molded a few expense accounts could see that Nelson County outlays would be more than offset by property taxes 40 percent below what we paid in St. Petersburg, vehicle insurance that is 50 percent lower and home insurance (in an area not overly prone to hurricanes) that is down by 60 percent.

We are financially sound but well shy of wealthy.

Building a home at Stoney Creek brought a new world of challenges. It was the fourth house-building challenge we had undertaken. Marcy has become really good at it. My role is to write a lot of checks and supply support and understanding.

Our new challenge was to assemble hundreds of elements, working to make our house all it could be, despite being in the beauteous boondocks well removed from any large city and extensive suppliers.

It took untold numbers of phone calls and trips to Charlottesville, Farmville, Lynchburg and Richmond - plus an avalanche of patience.

But now, it's done and dandy.

Wintergreen's recreation and community offerings were right for us: a load of activities without a country club price structure.

Ski season has an effect on our budget: The more money the resort takes in from December through March, the smaller our annual assessment, which we hoped would stay below $600.

There are 45 holes of golf. Back in Florida, our club had 18 holes and our average monthly bill, while Marcy and I spent more time at work than play, was about $750.

If we had competed as regularly as our new life has offered at Wintergreen, the fare might have approached $1,000.

Now, for unlimited greens fees and court time, plus electric carts, the annual costs run about $3,800, or just over $300 a month.

Did I mention the nature aspects? We traded Florida seashores for mountains of lush, seasonal growth, with the occasional deer prancing past.

However, our being in a place not especially close to a city brought concerns about health care and personal protection. But fire trucks, EMS vehicles and police cars are always on duty, just for Wintergreen's residents and guests.

Knowing what friends pay for their houses and less-extensive services in the Carolinas, it amazes me that more are not shopping farther north, in Virginia, for retirement homes or second residences.

My guess is, it's the drive that causes ignorance of opportunities.

From the middle of Florida it takes 10 to 11 hours to get to the heart of North Carolina. It takes four to five more hours to reach our western Virginia area.

But to old cronies who ask, I now suggest that Floridians open their minds and eyes wider. Maybe their pockets won't have to be so deep to get the most complete deal of all.

Virginia has historical substance like we never knew in Florida. Down there, it's pretty much Ponce de Leon and a few ancient Seminole chiefs. Towns born in the middle 1850s are considered really old. And there are too few handsome and historic buildings.

Everywhere we drive in the bountiful land of Jefferson, Washington and Madison, big towns and small hit you with roadside bronze, signs that appropriately brag about being formed in 17something and having survived famous battles in the Civil War and/or Revolution.

Maybe about now I should say that I do love Florida and cherish our pasts there. Our families, careers and memories have been anchored in the famous sand. I appreciate my old state's unique wealth, which has so much to do with weather that's pretty much 12 months of warmth.

Our move, more than anything, was about a desire for change.

We find Virginia notably friendly and honest. In our uncrowded domain, you write a check and few businesses ask for ID. What an abundant, gorgeous, historic, substantive place in which Marcy and I now live. I mean, how complex can Nelson be, being a county without a single traffic light?

We made a bold move, I suppose. But a right move for sure.

Hubert Mizell is a former reporter and columnist for the St. Petersburg Times.